


Mischief Managed

by be11atrixthestrange



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Foreplay, Gratuitous Smut, Light Angst, Oral Sex, Romance, Romantic Angst, Romantic Fluff, Sex, Shameless Smut, Smut, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:00:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28104366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/be11atrixthestrange/pseuds/be11atrixthestrange
Summary: Hermione follows rules, Ron breaks them, and they're rubbing off on each other.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 7
Kudos: 56





	Mischief Managed

**Author's Note:**

> I sat down to write, and this smut-tastic thing happened. Not sure what that says about me...
> 
> Thanks to adenei6 for encouraging it! :).
> 
> I don't own these characters, I just make them fuck sometimes.
> 
> Smut warning.

_I solemnly swear I am up to no good_.

Hermione always valued law and order. She was Head Girl after all, it was her job to enforce the rules. She knew them well, she understood them, and she believed in their importance… most of the time.

 _I solemnly swear I am up to no good_.

She resisted the appeal of rebellion for years, always staying in line and trying to keep her friends there too. But Ron must be rubbing off on her, because the allure was back, and she suddenly found comfort in the mantra of the Marauders Map.

 _I solemnly swear I am up to no good_.

She paced quickly down the cobblestone streets of Diagon Alley, repeating the words that validated her choice to break school rules. The fact that the map only worked with the promise of mischief reassured her that sometimes, rules were meant to be broken.

Hermione wasn't technically supposed to leave school grounds, but McGonagall granted her special permission this time. As far as McGonagall knew, she was visiting with her parents, who had returned from Australia for the week. Last time she got special permission to leave, she said she had to attend a funeral for a great-uncle. And the time before that, she was— allegedly— in her cousin's wedding. Hermione could only imagine the repercussions if McGonagall ever found out all of those had been shameless lies.

She reached her destination, and knocked loudly on the door. Her jaw clenched and her eyes narrowed when he approached. She probably looked like she was angry at him— Which would have been an easy mistake to make. For Hermione, anger and attraction had always been closely linked, and Ron was finally beginning to understand the differences between the expression she wore when she wanted to punch him, and the one she made when she wanted to shag him. There is something about a man that didn't back down from a screaming match— Ron was never afraid to stand up to her. He challenged her.

"Hello?" he asked when the door cracked open.

"Hello," she said, leaning against the door frame. "Fancy seeing you here."

He was smiling now. "We're closed."

She couldn't help but crack a grin upon seeing him smile. "I know."

"And," he continued, "we're not supposed to let customers in after hours."

Hermione shrugged playfully. "You've never been one for following rules."

With his signature lopsided smile, Ron opened the door to let her into Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. It was true— Ron had never been keen on rules, and it was one of the many ways he challenged her.

"I suppose you're here for a different kind of service, then?" he asked, eyebrows raised imploringly.

He placed a hand on her shoulder, turning her around so her back was to him. Then he gently slipped off her jacket to hang it up. Even though it was just a jacket, the effortless way he hooked his fingers into the collar and slid it down her arms made her shudder. It was the same easy way he would unhook her bra, or guide her knickers down her thighs. It seemed almost like he was ignoring another rule— one that said undressing someone should be a big deal.

The way he did it was entirely non-sexual, like he was simply opening a door, or pouring her a glass of wine. The casual manner in which he could take her clothes off drove her absolutely insane. Whether he was intentionally evading the eroticism of the act or not, all it did was inject sexual tension into every other mundane thing he did.

After he hung up her jacket, he placed his hand on her lower back to lead her to the lounge in the back room. That simple act made her mouth water.

There was an alcohol cabinet in the lounge, and the way he poured her a glass of red wine made her breath hitch.

And when he handed her the glass, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, all it was to Hermione was foreplay.

He could tease her by turning off a light, opening a drawer, or reading a book. It wasn't fair.

"So," he said, letting his hand linger for a moment behind her ear. "You must have missed me."

Hermione cleared her throat, trying to keep her expression neutral. "A little bit."

Thankfully, Ron removed his hand— if he had kept it there longer, it might have left a burn mark. He smiled that goofy grin, took a sip of wine, and interlaced his fingers with hers to guide her to a sofa in the corner of the room.

She winced— it was another broken rule— red wine on a white sofa. But she couldn't help but admire the way he expertly balanced his glass as he sank into the couch without so much as a drop spilled. She was about to sit next to him, but he placed a hand in front of her to stop her, and shook his head.

Hermione smiled— all while groaning internally— when he nodded toward his lap. She bit her lip, balanced the wine in her hand, and sat down facing him, one leg on either side of his.

His calm, nonchalant expression broke for a moment, and she could see a flash of desire in his eyes. It took just a few seconds for him to scan her body. His gaze lingered on her breasts, before moving to her thigh, where his hand was resting. He let his hand slide up her thigh, ever so minutely, so that his fingertips slipped underneath her skirt. Then, just as suddenly, his expression turned neutral again and he met her gaze.

His eye contact burned right through her, taunting her even more than his hand on her thigh. She quickly buried another sip of her wine.

"How's school?" he asked, inching his fingers further under the hem of her skirt. His expression was still frustratingly neutral.

"I hate not having you there." She reached a hand toward his face, gently brushing her fingers across the stubble of his chin. He was a little scruffier than she remembered, and she realized she had no idea what a few days unshaven would feel like against her neck, or her breast, or her inner thigh.

"Stressed?" he asked, pulling her out of her reverie. His fingers were slightly— she might have imagined it— stroking her thigh, but he maintained his curious gaze on her eyes.

Hermione nodded. "That's why I'm here," she said, letting her hand move from his stubble to his hair, which was longer and messier than the last time she saw him.

He removed his hand from under her skirt. She frowned, as the space on her thigh now felt cold and empty. It was only for a moment, to swiftly take her wine glass from her hand and place it on the coffee table. Then he pulled her a little closer to him and leaned back against the couch. His hand found it's home back underneath her skirt, and she tangled her fingers further into his hair. She leaned forward to place a kiss against his head, fully aware that the v-neck shirt she had strategically worn hung wide open for him.

Maybe she could tease him as much as he was teasing her. She shifted forward on her hips, sliding her leg against his hand, so that his fingers brushed the tip of her knickers. He responded by clenching her shirt into a fist at her lower back. Her lips moved down to the side of his head, and she slipped the tip of his ear between her teeth. A muffled groan escaped his throat, his stubble brushed against her neck, and his fingers dug into her thigh.

She released his ear from her grasp to move her mouth to his neck, biting down and sucking his skin into her mouth. He took in a sharp breath, and she paused, waiting for his signal to continue.

"You can bite harder," he said, tilting his head aside to give her better access. So she did. "Leave a mark," he added, and the thought of it— of marking him— just made her want him more. It was like writing her name on her homework, the only way to get full credit.

She could tell he wanted her too when his fingers slid to her knickers, and he dipped his thumbs underneath the fabric. He ran them along the edges, toward her center, until they met one another in the middle. She automatically leaned back slightly to allow him access, and he rightfully interpreted her shift in posture as permission to slip his thumbs down to her clit and caress her.

She moaned and bit his neck harder, and he responded with more pressure from his fingers.

"Do you care about these knickers?" he asked her.

She didn't care— just like her loose blouse, her knickers were a strategic choice. Their transparency made them fragile enough to rip, and assured that her warm, wet response to his touch wouldn't go unnoticed.

She shook her head without removing her mouth from his neck. He firmly gripped the fragile lace and ripped them apart. She lifted her hips so he could tear them fully off, and he discarded them on the floor below the sofa.

Her hips sank back down to his lap, his fingers edged back to her center, and he slipped his thumbs between her lips to spread them apart, giving himself the access he needed to stroke her.

She detached from his neck so she could press herself more firmly into his hand, and smiled at the mark she had left. She lifted onto her knees so her breasts hung dangerously close to his face.

"No bra," he mumbled, starting to trail kisses from her collarbone to her chest. "I love that." Another strategic choice. It didn't take much to push her blouse out of the way so he could cover her breast with his mouth. She felt his tongue run across her nipple, bit her lip, and let out a soft moan.

He increased the pressure of his fingers. One hand continued stroking her, while the other gently spread her, exposing more sensitive skin for him to touch. When her thighs clenched and buckled from the pressure, it was his expertly placed fingers that overrode them, their caresses simply suggesting that she open her legs wider for him. So she did, letting herself get lost in the moment. Then she felt one finger slip inside her, and her breath caught in her throat while her hands gripped his scruffy hair. One finger became two, and her breathing grew louder, a breathy whine escaping with every exhale. She knew he liked that sound. The vibration of his appreciative hum was rattling against her breast, his thumbs confidently massaging her most sensitive places, and she felt his teeth caress her nipple.

Then he released her from his mouth and buried his face into her chest. His hands kept moving on her, in her, and his unshaven chin against her breasts caused her whole body to quiver. "You're so fucking wet" came his muffled voice, and she could almost feel the corners of his mouth turning up into a satisfied smile. "Can't wait to fuck you...Hear you come…"

As a general rule, Hermione didn't love dirty talk. But when it was Ron...

She pressed into his hand while her fingers tugged at his hair. He increased the pressure of his strokes again, and she shut her mouth tight to muffle her growing moans.

"Let it out, Hermione," he whispered into her ear. "We're alone, you can be loud. Scream for me."

Ron was definitely an exception to the rule.

She obliged, letting the sound of her pleasure escape her lips. Ron pressed his lips against the front of her neck, letting a kiss linger there, and he kept his hands moving determinedly, teasingly.

The tension was about to peak, and she felt herself involuntarily clench down on his hand.

"That's right—" he said against the front of her neck, centering his thumb directly on the mound of nerves, pressing, and driving her mad. It was almost like he had studied her body, learned the rules, and knew exactly how to please her.

She felt heat rising between her legs, her breath deepening, and almost let out a moan of satisfaction—

But he swiftly removed his hand from between her legs, seconds before she would have unraveled completely. She groaned, now simply in frustration— he was an expert at pleasing her, and knowing exactly when to pull back to drive her mad. She should have expected this— they could go on all night. Half of her hoped they would.

"I'm not ready to be done with you," he said mischievously, before shifting her off of his lap and onto her back. He climbed on top of her, but just before she captured his lips with hers, he ducked away, landing on her neck.

"Tease," she sighed, while he chuckled. His hand slid up her shirt and cupped her breast, while he kissed his way to her ear.

"Takes one to know one," he whispered, and his hand progressed down her stomach, shortly followed by his head, lifting her skirt up when he got there. He kissed her inner thigh, and trailed his lips to her center. Finding her clit, he ran his tongue across her and it didn't take long for her to feel the build up again.

This time she wrapped a leg around his head to hold him in place, just in case he decided to tease her again. He smiled against her and stopped the motion of his tongue. When she loosened the grip of her leg, he slowly nodded, and resumed. She tried it one another time, pressing her leg into his head, forcing his lips against her, and he paused. She could tell he was smirking even though his face was obscured by her bunched up skirt.

"I hate you," she said, in a tone that implied the opposite.

He removed his lips from her for a brief, tantalizing moment, and locked eyes with her. "I love you."

He might have reached up and literally turned the corners of her mouth up in a smile, it was that automatic. She both loved, and despised, how effectively his words could make her melt.

She let her head relax against the couch cushion and her knees opened wide. He dove right back in, covering her with his tongue, and now that she understood the rules of his little game, she submitted.

Her breath picked up again and the muscles in her legs spasmed as she quickly approached her edge again, but she made every effort not to show it by muffling her voice into the couch cushion, steadying her breath, forcing her legs to relax…

But he didn't buy it. This time, he slowed his tongue and steadied his mouth on her milliseconds before she screamed his name, and broke contact right before she reached her hand to his head to try to keep him in place. What would have been a sound of satisfaction came out as a frustrated groan. With that same infuriating smirk he kissed his way back up to her neck, all while undoing the buttons on his jeans and pulling his erection free.

He pressed his tip against her opening, raising his eyebrows for permission. She nodded and wrapped her legs around his waist as he pushed in.

They'd gotten quite comfortable being with each other this way. This was a far cry from the clumsy, self-conscious Ron of last summer. There were no awkward position shifts, mumbled apologies, nervous fumbles— this was a Ron who knew what she liked. He knew exactly where to touch her, how fast to thrust, how to angle her hips against her to make her bite her lip, close her eyes, and come undone. She was quite proud of how quickly he had learned the rules of her body.

But of course, it was his mischievous side that made him a Weasley, and breaking the rules was his ultimate motivation for learning them. It was his style as a quidditch keeper, a chess player, a prefect, and as it turns out, a lover.

So this time she didn't get her hopes up. She let him snake his arm around her lower back, lift her hips, press his thumb to her clit while she clutched blindly at the couch cushions, exhaling his name with every breath. He continued to pump into her with finesse, his own breath pace was picking up, and a rosy color creeping up his neck. He must have felt her tightening around him as she approached climax again, because he slowed his pace, removed his hand from her, and withdrew. He exhaled a stiff, cooling breath like it had taken incredible self-restraint to pull away.

"Turn around?" he said.

Was it a question? A command? As a rule, she didn't love being told what to do, but when it was Ron...

He didn't have to say it twice. She flipped over, balancing on her forearms while he gripped her hips and pulled her back to her knees. He held her steady and pressed himself into her for the second time, and her name escaped his lips as a moan when he started to pump.

Yes, Ron was an exception to the rule.

His fingers wandered underneath her, found her center, and began to stroke her, keeping pace with his thrusts. Like no time had passed, she was approaching the cliff again— it always happened more quickly the longer he teased her. Her legs buckled, she felt herself clenching down on his cock, and dug her fingers into the couch cushion.

He picked up his pace and pumped into her faster and harder until the couch was shifting with each thrust. She could sense that he was almost over the edge, and she was right there with him. She buried her face into the throw pillow to muffle the high pitched scream of his name, just as he pressed himself powerfully into her and let himself unravel, moaning expletives that that would have offended her if she heard them from anyone else.

He collapsed onto her, his fingers in her hair, but she still felt light under his weight, floating on the euphoria of their joint orgasm.

 _Well damn._ Dirty talk, telling her what to do, swearing, and teasing her— none of that was in the rulebook. Leave it to Ron to make the wrong things feel so right.

They recovered, and Hermione turned back around to face him. He lowered his body back to hers, and captured her lips in a kiss. This time, when he tried to pull away, she pressed her hand to the back of his head to keep them connected. He didn't tease or resist, but melted into her and deepened the kiss, breaking the rules of his own game.

_Mischief Managed._


End file.
